


A Melody for a Queen

by MykEsprit



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Fic Exchange, Hermione's Haven, OfftheBeatenPath18, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: Daenerys had grown tough since her unborn son was unwittingly sacrificed for the life of her husband; a futile endeavor, in the end. She promised herself to never get attached to anyone again. Yet here was her traitorous heart, pining after the beautiful witch who appeared in a brilliant flash of light.





	A Melody for a Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GaeilgeRua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaeilgeRua/gifts).



> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.
> 
> A/N: Written for Off the Beaten Path Crossover Fic Exchange (Summer 2018). Lots of love to my awesome beta Lucefray27, and many thanks to the lovely ladies of Hermione’s Haven for hosting this event!

She moved like a queen. Perched at the dome of muscles between Rhaegal’s expansive wings, she flew above the blue-gray water surrounding the small island. Her hands were sure in their grip of Rhaegal’s spines, her back straight but not taut, as if she had been riding dragons since youth.

 

She looked like she belonged there—not just on the dragon’s back, hundreds of feet up in the air, but here, at Dragonstone. In Westeros. By her side.

 

Wishful thinking, on Daenerys’ part.

 

The air whipped furiously as Rhaegal descended to the cliffside, where Daenerys watched and waited. The ground trembled as the dragon’s powerful hind legs landed on the edge, his claws digging into the rocky earth as he bent forward and lowered his head. Hermione Granger slid down the hump of his shoulder and landed lightly on her feet. She was all grace and poise, except for her profusion of brown curls, which danced wildly in the sea breeze.

 

“Everything looks to be set, Your Majesty,” she said as she approached. Her skirt billowed around her feet, the color a perfect match for her hair, a woodsy brown that shone bronze where the sunlight touched it. “The ships have all launched without issue. Tyrion awaits you and the dragons on the main ship.”

 

“Very well,” Daenerys murmured and raised a dark eyebrow at her guest. “Rhaegal seems to have taken a liking to you. He’s not usually so—” she tilted her head as images flashed in her mind of frightened soldiers screaming and running away from the colossal beast, “—welcoming,” she finished with a mischievous grin.

 

That earned Daenerys a dulcet laugh. “I’m not normally comfortable flying,” Hermione admitted. Her eyes lingered on the dark green creature, who had launched in the air and circled overhead.  “But your dragon is incredibly intuitive. Whenever I begin to feel uncomfortable, he adjusts to me.” She shook her head and laughed quietly. “Honestly, it’s like he can read my mind!”

 

“Not like your brooms?” she asked. She felt the teasing smile linger on her lips.

 

“Not at all,” Hermione said. “I dislike flying on a broom. I always feel like I’ll slide off at any given moment. But, with Rhaegal, I feel safe.”

 

There was a stirring in Daenerys’ chest—an emotion, something she hardly gave herself leave to indulge ever since her husband Drogo’s death. She paused, now, and tried to place this feeling that made her heart flutter under her breastbone.

 

Hope, perhaps. It bloomed at Hermione’s confidence in her dragon, who was, in a way, an extension of herself. Trust in her creature-child meant trust in _her_. Daenerys’ heart soared in the sky alongside Rhaegal.

 

“I’m going to miss him,” Hermione murmured.

 

Her heart fell from the great height as she remembered why she had stayed on land as her armies set sail.

 

“Are you ready to go home?” Daenerys asked, avoiding her eyes. When she didn’t hear a reply, she glanced up to find Hermione gazing at her with a quizzical expression.

 

“I’m going to miss you more,” she whispered, a soft smiling grazing her features.

 

Then another twinge of her heart—a dash of anxiety. Fear. Terror. She had grown tough since her unborn son was unwittingly sacrificed for the life of her husband; a futile endeavor, in the end. She promised herself to never get attached to anyone again. Yet here was her traitorous heart, pining after a woman who, quite literally, came out of nowhere.

 

ooOOoo

 

Daenerys reclined on the settee by the window overlooking the harbor. The inky waters disappeared beyond the lights of the fortress. She couldn’t see her dragons in that moonless night, but their telltale flapping could be heard over the crashing waves.

 

Daenerys suddenly felt a tingling on the surface of her skin; a crawling sensation that she hadn’t felt since being in the presence of the slave-witch Mirri Maz Duur. She’ll never forget that woman, nor the feel of the weapon with which she killed Daenerys’ husband and child: dark, powerful magic.

 

It now fizzled in the air, filling the room, surrounding her— _touching_ her, and it made her want to scratch her skin off.

 

She was already on her feet, muscles tense as she backed toward the window. If anything came for her, she would jump out, knowing her beloved dragons would catch her before she dashed against the jagged rocks.

 

In the middle of her bedchamber, a ball of light flared, bathing the room in white. Daenerys prepared to leap off the ledge of her window when she heard a surprised, high-pitched, “ _Oomph!_ ”

 

She slowly turned, picking up a dagger from her side table as she approached the figure crumpled on the stone floor. She nudged the point of her blade in the soft flesh under the intruder’s jaw.

 

“You have until I count to _one_ to explain why you’re in my chambers,” Daenerys said, using her most authoritative voice, “before this dagger slits your throat.”

 

The woman—for it _was_ a woman, she could tell from the outline of her body in her strange clothes—slowly got up to her feet, her left hand raised in surrender, but her right still hidden under her cloak. Before Daenerys could demand that she bring it up slowly, the woman shoved her weight back and knocked Daenerys over. She shuffled her feet, fighting to keep balance. The hilt of her dagger flew out of her grasp. In the next instant, she was staring down her nose at the tip of a thin wooden stick. Daenerys followed the line of it to a dainty hand and up a long arm until her gaze landed on a pair of dark brown eyes.

 

“Where—where am I?” the woman asked, gaping at her surroundings. “ _Did you bring me here?!_ ”

 

She jabbed the stick closer to Daenerys’ face. Whatever it was, it made the woman feel like she had the power in this dynamic. It had been a long time since Daenerys had been directly confronted like this, and the competitor in her rose to the challenge.

 

“What use would I—Daenerys Targaryen, _Queen_ of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, the Mother of Dragons—have of a lone woman and her _stick_?”

 

She had the gall to huff in offense and shake her stick at Daenerys’ face. “It’s not just a stick, it’s a—I beg your pardon, but did you say ‘ _mother_ of dragons?’” Her eyes enlarged, and she swallowed audibly, a response Daenerys had grown used to ever since Drogon had reached his mature size. Yet, the woman surprised her again as she rather insolently let her gaze travel from Daenerys’ loose curls down to her unbound toes. When she brought her gaze up to meet Daenerys’ incensed stare, her cheeks pinked in a rather becoming way.

 

“Er, sorry,” she stammered. “When you say ‘mother’ of dragons, is that in the… _literal_ sense?”

 

Daenerys blinked. Despite the widespread moniker, she couldn’t recall if she had ever come across anyone who assumed she _birthed_ her dragons. What a bizarre—foolish? insane?—woman!

 

“Of course not,” Daenerys said slowly. “Do you really think I transformed into a dragon and laid eggs?”

 

The brunette shrugged casually, as if such things were commonplace where she came from. She rushed to the window and squinted out at the shore. Her tone was flat when she murmured, “This isn’t Perth, is it?”

ooOOoo

 

“Is that where you’ll go?” Daenerys asked as she and Hermione ascended the stone staircase to the bedchamber. “Perth?”

 

The sounds of their footfalls bounced off the walls of the stronghold, nearly empty save for the few trusted servants they would leave behind as their forces sailed for King’s Landing.

 

Hermione shook her head. “Once it activates, it should send me back to the location where I came from. My flat in London.”

 

“London.” Daenerys committed the strange word to memory. She halted on the landing and grabbed Hermione’s left arm. Her fingers grazed the smooth, worn leather strap wrapped around Hermione’s wrist.

 

A ‘Portkey,’ as Hermione referred to it.

 

They stood on the platform, staring at each other wordlessly for a long moment. Daenerys opened her mouth. She wanted to ask Hermione to stay. To command it. To beg, if she had to.

Instead, her gaze fell on the object, and she asked, “How does it work again?”

 

ooOOoo

 

“It’s called a _Portus_ charm. It can be cast on any item, and when it’s activated, it can transport the user.”

 

Daenerys outlined the edge of Hermione’s jaw. “And it brought you here.” With her lips, she retraced the path her fingers had covered.

 

When she reached the spot under Hermione’s ear—the one that made her moan so deliciously every time Daenerys grazed it with her teeth—she shifted off the bed and hovered on top of her lover. Her lips never left Hermione’s warm skin as her hands trailed down the column of her neck and to her chest.

 

“It wasn’t—” Hermione gasped as Daenerys found the peak of a nipple and gave it a firm squeeze between her thumb and forefinger. “It wasn’t meant to do that,” she said, her voice now breathy.

 

Daenerys didn’t have to look to know that her eyes would be half-lidded. After a fortnight of pleasuring the self-proclaimed witch, she developed a proficient ear to determine the notes of her melodic voice. That breathy sigh, like the soft lilt of a woodwind instrument, meant that she was falling into a state of relaxation. Her body was opening up, welcoming the prelude to the pleasure that Daenerys’ lips and hands were promising.

 

“The Portkey was supposed to bring me to my p-par—” Hermione stuttered when Daenerys’ lips found the swell of her other breast. “To Australia,” Hermione finished.

 

“Aus-tra-li-a.” Her voice was muffled against Hermione’s skin, her tongue stroking the tight, sensitive bud of her nipple as her mouth formed the sounds.

 

Hermione moaned and arched her back. Daenerys felt Hermione’s fingers caress her white-blonde hair. “A foreign land. Not in Westeros.”

 

“No,” Hermione groaned.

 

Daenerys slithered down her body; she flicked her tongue in Hermione’s navel. “Not in Essos.”

 

“Uh-uh,” was the reply she got as she moved further down. Hermione’s voice was now the bass of a long horn, a sign that she was firmly entrenched in sensual bliss. Daenerys nuzzled the inside of her thigh and smiled.

 

“Tell me, Hermione. Right now, would you rather be in Australia?” she asked before dipping her head to the apex of her thighs.

 

Hermione’s response was an incoherent moan—a melody to her ears.

 

It wasn’t until later, when the moon was high in the sky, illuminating the bedchamber, that they continued their conversation.

 

“It lets a witch or wizard travel across great distances,” Hermione said, holding the round, glass-faced object. She grazed the tarnished gold rim with her long, tapered fingers as she brought it closer to her face.

 

“I thought it’s meant to tell time.” Daenerys reached for the object, but at the last second, dropped her hand to cup Hermione’s chin instead. She gently nudged her chin until they were face-to-face on the large four-poster bed.

 

“The watch itself can tell time,” Hermione said. “It used to, anyway. You see these?” She pointed to the thin lines of metal under the glass. “These are called hands. When the watch works normally, these hands move around to these tick marks and—” Hermione stared, wide-eyed, at the object between her fingers, and then bolted up to sit on the bed. The sheet covering her chest pooled down to her waist, exposing her pert breasts to the cool night air.

 

Daenerys sat up with her. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Did you change the positions of these hands?” Hermione asked. “Or perhaps touched these dials here on the side?”

 

Daenerys frowned. “Of course not.”

 

Hermione brought the watch up to the light. “The positions of the hands have changed since I activated it back home.” She counted the number of black marks on the edges of the white background. “The second hand has moved fourteen tick marks, but counterclockwise. And the minute hand has been moved one tick back.” Hermione paused, as if contemplating a theory. “How long have I been here?”

 

“Fourteen days,” Daenerys said quietly.

 

 “It’s counting down,” Hermione murmured, her eyes darting back and forth in the space in front of her. “But to what? Reactivation?”

 

A heavy sensation dropped in the pit of Daenerys’ belly. “What happens when it ‘reactivates?’” she asked, although she already knew the answer.

 

Hermione gave her a sad smile. “I think, then, I go home.”

 

ooOOoo

 

“You should go,” Hermione said. “The winds were strong when the fleet set sail. The dragons may tire if the ships get too far.”

 

Daenerys shook her head. “I don’t want to leave. Not yet. I want every moment I can get with you before you go.”

 

Hermione grabbed her hands and laced their fingers together. “Whatever my queen wants.”

 

For an instant, she was tempted to gratify her selfish needs and make her demands. To tell her to mount Rhaegal and ride beside her as they conquered the seat of the western world. But back home, Hermione’s life was full of treasures Daenerys longed for her entire life: loving parents and lifelong, steadfast friends. Many nights were spent nestled in each other’s arms with Hermione recounting the adventures of her youth, her voice echoing the melancholic strains of a violin.

 

Hermione filled her chest with air and released it in a loud puff before nodding. From the folds of her dress, she took out the stick— _wand_ , she corrected in her head— and clutched the watch in her other hand.

 

Daenerys sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, hesitating for only a moment before asking, “Are you certain it will bring you back home?”

 

“No,” she said quietly. “I don’t what kind of curse was put on the watch. The only thing I’m sure of is that when I scanned it with my wand, it indicated the presence of Dark magic. It’s likely what corrupted the _Portus_ charm and sent me here.”

 

Gripped with sudden fear, Daenerys’ fingers circled both her wrists. “What if this Dark Curse is still active? What if it sends you elsewhere—not home? Somewhere dangerous.”

 

A wry smile formed on her lips. “More dangerous than dragons?”

 

Daenerys pulled on her wrists until Hermione’s body was flush against hers. She brought her hands to Hermione’s back, effectively enveloping the witch in her arms. “Is there such a thing?” she asked.

 

Hermione nodded. At Daenerys’ inquisitive arch of her brow, she answered, “There’s only one thing more dangerous than dragons.” Hermione leaned forward and brushed her lips against the corner of Daenerys’ mouth. “Their mother,” she whispered.

 

Daenerys captured Hermione’s bottom lip between her teeth, running her tongue over the plump, sweet flesh. Her hands traveled up and plunged into those voluminous curls one last time.

 

Too soon, Hermione was sighing against her lips and pulling back with obvious reluctance. She held the watch in the small space between their bodies. “It looks like it’s time,” she said.

 

Daenerys took two steps back as Hermione brought her wand up to the object. Expecting to hear her say the spell, she was surprised when Hermione gave her a pleading look and said, “Daenerys, do you need me?”

 

Her mouth fell open.

 

“Back home, I had a cause to fight for,” Hermione said hurriedly. “I _lived_ for that cause, and when it was resolved, it felt like there was something missing in my life.” Hermione’s chest rose and fell rapidly as her body caught up to the race of her thoughts. “There was a hole that I tried to fill with _everything_ : work, charity, politics.” She took two steps forward to cup Daenerys’ cheek. “And, it wasn’t until I came here and met you that I felt _complete_ again.” Daenerys nuzzled the inside of her wrist as she gazed into Hermione’s imploring eyes. “Tell me you need me,” she pleaded. “I’ll take up your banners and fight for your cause.”

 

She felt the corners of her lips turn up. “You’ll stay by my side as I take the throne?” she asked, that pesky hope creeping into her voice.

 

To her relief, Hermione nodded, a bright smile forming on her face. “I’ll help you take back what’s rightfully yours. Then, we’ll see about bringing peace and unity to your lands.”

 

“That may take a long time,” Daenerys warned.

 

Hermione placed the cool metal of the watch against Daenerys’ wrist, wrapping the leather strap around and securing the buckle. She kissed the center of Daenerys’ palm. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated!  
> Prompt: Hermione was in desperate need of a vacation. She just never expected her Portkey to be a cursed artifact that reacted with the Portus charm, sending her across time and space.
> 
> Thanks to anon prompter for such an inspiring prompt!


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